


Arrested

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood, Exhaustion, M/M, Oblivious, Prison, brief mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire always seem to get arrested together, but one day, Grantaire gets tired of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrested

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer - if you recognize it, chances are that it is owned by someone with significantly more wealth and power than myself. That person should probably purchase my typos, because I feel like that would be a good investment.

The door to the squad car slammed and Enjolras gave the arresting officer the finger before relaxing slightly in his seat, turning to grin at Grantaire, blood trickling from one nostril. “So. Back to jail again, huh? Who’s on deck to bail us out this time?”

Grantaire returned his smile only reluctantly, something dark fleeting across his face before he looked away and mumbled, “Um, I think it’s Combeferre’s turn. Assuming that he hasn’t been arrested as well.”

“Nah, he’s pretty good about that,” Enjolras said off-handedly, unable to stop smiling at the success of the protest. Sure, the riot may not have been the ultimate intended response, but it ensured coverage on the news, which would shed far more awareness on the issue at hand than previously had been given.

So lost was he in his thoughts and half-made plans that he barely noticed that Grantaire was unusually quiet as the cops drove them to the station. Normally Grantaire would be laughing and joking or worrying over Enjolras’s bleeding nose (it wasn’t broken, he didn’t think, but even if it was, there was little he could do about it now). Instead, Grantaire was silent, staring outside the window, his hands twisting in his lap, only glancing back at Enjolras every now and again.

Once they arrived at the station, they were both escorted inside the building (Enjolras with perhaps a little more force than necessary), and the booking officer looked up and smiled when he saw who it was. “If it isn’t my favorite revolutionaries!” he said cheerfully, standing and telling the other officers, “I’ll take it from here, boys. These two are regulars.”

When he uncuffed Grantaire, Grantaire rubbed his wrists and muttered under his breath, “Hey, Mike. How’s the wife?”

“She’s doing really well,” he told Grantaire, moving on to uncuff Enjolras, ushering them both into their usual holding cell. “Did I tell you that she’s pregnant? Yeah, I know. I’m gonna be a dad!”

Grantaire managed a tired smile as he sat down stiffly on one of the benches. “That’s great. Really. Tell her I say congratulations.”

Enjolras didn’t even bat an eyelash at this display; he and Grantaire had been arrested enough times that they knew most of the booking officers by first name, and in Grantaire’s case — given as he spent more time in lock-up than Enjolras due to bar fights and the occasional drunk and disorderly — even regarded some of them as friends. Enjolras did not deign to do so, mainly because he viewed all police officers with an innate distrust stemming from their positions as cogs in an inherently corrupt system, but he did appreciate the slightly nicer treatment that they received in no small part because of Grantaire’s friendship with some of the officers.

Which was exactly why he made no complaint as the officer told them in the same cheerful tone, “I’ll pull up your files and start the paperwork for your intake. We’ll use the mugshots from last time, alright? No need to waste film on new ones. I’m sure neither of you have changed much in the past two weeks.”

He chuckled at his own joke and Grantaire smiled weakly, though it slipped off his face just as quickly, and he settled back onto the bench, drawing his knees up to his chest as he stared at the ground, an odd, closed expression on his face. “Everything alright?” Enjolras asked softly, frowning at Grantaire.

Grantaire just jerked his shoulders in a shrug, not looking up at Enjolras. “I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was hollow.

Enjolras’s frown deepened. He would hardly be one to be necessarily in tune to Grantaire’s emotions, since he seemed to careen from enthusiasm to the doldrums in a matter of minutes, but even he recognized that Grantaire’s behavior was out of the ordinary. He would usually be up, leaning against the bars of the holding cell, having an in-depth conversation with the booking officer about everything ranging from family and personal stories to whatever sports team had played recently, all the while leaving Enjolras to sit in the cell and plan for the next thing that would inevitably get them arrested.

In fact, now that Enjolras stopped and thought about it, he couldn’t remember a time when he  _hadn’t_  been arrested with Grantaire, when they hadn’t shared this exact same cell, when Grantaire hadn’t asked the officers to bring them some ice so he could apply to Enjolras’s eye or nose or cheek or jaw, all while scolding him for being such an idiot and getting hit.

Grantaire’s seemingly never-ending string of conversation was as familiar to him as these walls, and without it, the place seemed surprisingly cold. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem very fine to me.”

Snorting softly, Grantaire looked up at him, something cold in his eyes. “You should ask Mike for some ice before your nose swells up. No one looks attractive with a swollen nose.”

Enjolras flushed slightly and was about to retort that Grantaire’s own nose was hardly on the small side, and thus he was hardly one to talk, when he realized that may have been what Grantaire was hinting at, and he flushed even further. Still, he cleared his throat and asked the officer loudly, “Can I get some ice?”

The officer blinked up at him. “Sure, sounds good.” He stood and glanced over at Grantaire, who hadn’t moved from his position. “You need anything?”

Grantaire shook his head and told him in the same hollow voice, though with an attempt towards his normal sarcastic humor, “Nah, I’m good. Better get the ice for Apollo before his nose swells up so much that even I won’t be able to tolerate his presence.”

“Sure thing,” the officer chortled, heading out presumably for the ice, and Enjolras glared at Grantaire.

“What the hell is your problem?” he snapped, his temper getting the best of him. “I mean, look, I’m sorry that you’re locked up in here with me, if that’s what’s crawled up your ass, but you didn’t  _have_  to get arrested.”

Grantaire glared at him. “I didn’t  _have_ to?” he repeated, his voice far too calm, so calm that Enjolras almost flinched at the sound of it. “What would you have liked me to do, Enj, sit back and watch as you got your pretty face beaten in?”

Enjolras flushed again and glanced away. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbled. “I mean, you didn’t have to be at the protest in the first place. It’s not like you believe in what we’ve been trying to do. In fact—” and here his voice gained in volume, taking on an edge that he couldn’t quite explain “—you didn’t have to be at any of the protests. You didn’t have to be in here with me week after week, chatting up the cops and never shutting up. You didn’t have to do  _any_  of that.” He paused, waiting for Grantaire to say something, to disagree, before he added softly, “But I am glad that you did.”

Now Grantaire laughed, a quiet, bitter laugh. “Oh, you’re  _glad_? You’re  _glad_ that it’s been me stuck in here with you all these times? You wouldn’t rather have one of your lieutenants in here so you can plan and strategize and get ready to get yourself arrested yet again? I mean, surely you get tired of having to slum it in jail with someone like me. Why not turn the baffling amount of time you spend in here into something productive?”

“Is  _that_  what this is about?” Enjolras asked slowly, frowning deeply. “The amount of times that we’ve been arrested? Because again, you didn’t have to be arrested any of those times!”

“Of course I did!” Grantaire snapped. “What did you want me to do, let you get arrested by yourself and end up being held without bail because you said or did something stupid to the arresting officer? Or let them put you in a public cell where you would probably get your ass kicked by someone just because they didn’t like your face? Or, hell, let your stupid fucking face not heal properly because heaven forbid you go one fucking protest without getting yourself hit? Is that what you wanted me to do?”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire blankly, trying to keep up with what he was saying and failing miserably. “Wait, so are you saying that you let yourself get arrested all these times…for me?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Of course. Why the hell else would I have let myself get arrested? Firstly, I have tons more experience getting out of police custody than you do, meaning I probably wouldn’t even have made it to the station. And of course I actually talk to officers and make pleasant conversation, meaning most of the time I wouldn’t even have been charged. But then there’s you and the way you just insist upon sticking your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong, and what the hell else was I supposed to do?”

Something seemed to click in Enjolras’s brain, something that he hadn’t even realized had been niggling in the back of his mind for the past several weeks at least, the way Grantaire always made sure they were locked up together, the way he would gently press the ice against Enjolras’s face, cradling his jaw in his hand as he turned Enjolras’s face to examine his bruise closer, his breath ghosting against Enjolras’s skin, or the way he would constantly keep talking to Enjolras and joking and keeping him entertained. And he thought of the way that Grantaire’s face tightened every time he looked at Enjolras’s fresh bruises, the way he always fought through the crowd to Enjolras’s side at the protests.

And now he knew that Grantaire had been doing it all to protect him, and he felt something stir in his chest that he didn’t fully recognize.

“Oh,” he said, his voice small. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize…that.”

Snorting, Grantaire leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. Why would you? Who else would be pathetic enough to get himself arrested twenty times and counting just because he couldn’t…he couldn’t…”

He trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought, but Enjolras understood. Enjolras finally understood everything, and he was astounded that he hadn’t realized it before, hadn’t seen it sooner. Because it made perfect sense, in a way that shouldn’t have made any kind of sense at all. “I don’t know what to say,” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire just shook his head slowly and said, sounding as tired as he probably felt, “It doesn’t matter. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. If you want to keep getting yourself arrested in this misguided attempt to accomplish something in the world, you’re going to have to do it on your own. I can’t go through this anymore.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, whether gratitude or apologies were more in order, or an awkward acknowledgment that he understood why Grantaire had done it and he…well, he didn’t know what to say to that even more than the rest of it.

But it didn’t matter anyway. Grantaire shook his head once more and told him, almost sharply, “Don’t. I can’t keep doing this to myself. If you want to keep letting yourself get hurt, I can’t stand by anymore and just watch. It hurts me too fucking much.”

The quiet admission seemed to pierce Enjolras to his very core, and he burst, “You know I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I don’t…I wouldn’t do that to you on purpose. But this…despite what you may think, this is  _important_. And I can’t just  _not_  do anything, even if it…”

He trailed off, but Grantaire didn’t need him to finish the sentence, his face already twisting in a bitter smile. “And I would never ask you to. I’ve known far too long where I rank with you. I’ve never expected anything of you. This…this is all about me. And I just can’t do it anymore to myself.”

Without waiting for a response from Enjolras, Grantaire stood and strode over to the bars of the cell, calling to the booking officer as he returned with Enjolras’s ice, “Hey Mike, can I move to another cell?”

This startled the booking officer, and he glanced quickly from Grantaire to Enjolras, who was staring at Grantaire with a mess of emotions flickering across his face. “Um, sure. That’s not a problem.”

He tossed the ice pack to Enjolras, who just managed to catch it, before unlocking the cell door and letting Grantaire out, though he still glanced at Enjolras, who looked stricken. “Grantaire, don’t…”

Grantaire turned and gave him a tight, wry smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Enjolras. I just can’t do this anymore. But you know I’ve never believed in anything, so it was only a matter of time before I gave up on this, too. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Then he was gone, being escorted to a different holding cell, leaving Enjolras alone in the cell that he had always shared with Grantaire, alone with his thoughts with no idea what he was supposed to do now.


End file.
